


my absurdly practical robin

by rain_sleet_snow



Category: HEYER Georgette - Works, The Grand Sophy - Georgette Heyer, The Quiet Gentleman - Georgette Heyer
Genre: (Drusilla's), (Gervase's Parents'), (Minor Characters'), Awful In-Laws, Crossover, F/M, Life-Altering Injuries, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Periods, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Waterloo, unhappy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Five times Drusilla was in charge, and one time Gervase took over.





	my absurdly practical robin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisbluespirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/gifts).



**1.**

"Nothing in white, pale green, or pale blue," Drusilla says, "And I refuse to be laden with frills and feathers; nothing has ever made me look more like a poor little squab of a thing."

  
"You are not a poor little squab," says Miss Stanton-Lacy, stepping out of the carriage first. She is the fastest and most valuable of the friends Drusilla has made in these strange new circles her betrothal to Gervase has propelled her into.

Sophy is also at least a foot taller than Drusilla, and all her gowns are made in Paris.

"I regret to say that I am."

"You will shock Madame Celeste."

"Not as much as you are likely to," Drusilla says. Sophy has a very frank way about her, an excellent memory for prices, and an appreciation for luxury that marries well with a great deal of natural shrewdness.

"Oh dear," Mrs Morville murmurs, which would carry a great deal more weight with Drusilla if she could not see her mama fighting not to smile.

Drusilla Morville's wedding-clothes are very tasteful and elegant, and they are bought for a highly reasonable price. The modistes will recover eventually.

 

**2.**

They see Theo off at the docks. Gervase would not dream of doing anything else, and Drusilla wishes to see Theo safely on his way to an honourable post that will put several hundred nautical miles of ocean between Theo and Gervase.

The Dowager is uncertain and Martin is too; the kindest interpretation of Theo's plans is that he meant Gervase to suffer a dangerous accident, and Martin to be blamed and considered sufficiently unreliable that some of his lands fell to Theo. Gervase excuses the one on the grounds of the extremely early hour of Theo's departure, and Drusilla shares her reasoning for going to the docks with the other.

Drusilla, Gervase and Martin are all there, and Theo’s send-off is exactly as warm as it should be.

Theo clasps Drusilla's hands and speaks quietly to her, when Gervase and Martin are bickering over the identification of some form of bird life wheeling over the seas. "I do not need you to say it," he says.

"Say what?" Drusilla replies, uncooperatively.

"That you will see me on the gallows if harm ever comes to him."

A shiver does not go down Drusilla's spine, and she meets Theo's eyes squarely. This is exactly what she meant to convey to him. "See that I never have to say it."

He nods.

The West Indies, she thinks, as the boat bearing Theo out to his ship grows smaller and smaller in her sight, will suit Theo.

Or at the very least, they will suit Drusilla's peace of mind.

 

**3.**

Marianne's monthlies are apparently irregular, and arrive the morning of her wedding. Lady Bolderwood is unable to convince her that she will not remember this minor inconvenience when she recalls the happy memories of her wedding, in years to come.

Hysteria ensues. Lady Bolderwood refrains from boxing Marianne's ears and sends for Drusilla.

  
Drusilla writes out a receipt for a tisane for the miserable bride and sends it down to the kitchen, sets a maid to carry out some necessary laundry, and helps Marianne with the clouts. Lady Bolderwood is far better than Sir Thomas at managing their daughter, but a two-pronged attack is more effective than a single offensive.

Lady Bolderwood gives her a very significant look as soon as Marianne leaves the room to have her hair coiffed. "St Erth chose his bride well."

"So did Lord Ulverston," Drusilla says calmly.

Marianne is radiant, and shines the full force of gratitude as well as joy on Drusilla when it comes to the leave-taking.

"What did you do, my robin?" Gervase says, apparently puzzled.

"Nothing of consequence," says Drusilla.

 

**4.**

The picture is a small one - a charming three-quarters of a sweet, bright-eyed society maiden, rather than the enormous full-length portrait of a wretched but beautiful matron, visibly taking refuge in superficialities. That remains in the attic, not because the present Earl of St Erth (unlike his predecessor) needs to be prevented from throwing things at it, but because the late Eleanor Frant looks as unhappy as she was.

Eleanor Gerrard was loved and loveable. Gervase never knew that side of his mother.

Drusilla has the picture of her hung in a prominent place. But not in the family gallery, among those legions of Frants.

"Grossly improper," the Dowager snaps.

"Would you like some more tea?" Drusilla enquires.

"I would like you to take the picture of that woman down!"

"Not," Drusilla says mildly - she cannot manage Gervase's poisonous sweetness, but this will do - "with a teapot."

The Dowager splutters.

"Or indeed, a crowbar, a ladder, or any other instrument," Drusilla adds. "Do try a macaroon."

 

**5.**

Lucius Ulverston has nightmares, and there are some days in June when his cheerful face is written over with exhaustion. Charles Audley has only one arm. Adam Lynton has a permanent halt in one leg.

Hugo Darracott and her husband are externally unmarked, but there are times when Gervase sleeps in a state of perfect rigidity, and Drusilla has noticed the two of them catch each other's eye in the middle of speaking of past military experiences and fall silent.

She is not fool enough to think the women unmarked either. On the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, at the celebrations, she watched Barbara Audley and Lady Worth hold each other's hands so tightly their gloves strained at the seams, hidden by the graceful fall of their gowns. And she is clever enough to hear what lies beneath her friend Sophy's easy laughter.

During her house parties, Drusilla ensures that Viscount and Viscountess Lynton are accommodated in a room accessed by an absolute minimum of stairs, carefully instructs the servants in the best ways to assist Colonel Audley without insulting him, and sees to it that Marianne and Lucius are given a room with extremely thick walls.

One night three years after Waterloo Lucius and Gervase sit up talking in Gervase's library for hours. They have ordered two bottles of brandy. Drusilla requests a pot of tea and sends all the servants to bed.

Marianne sits on Drusilla's bed with her legs tucked up beneath her as if they were sisters. She looks absurdly young, because she is, and she combs and braids Drusilla's hair in silence. Drusilla lets her do it, as it seems to soothe her.

"How are we supposed to help them?" Marianne says at last. She always looks tired in June too, and little Tom has been fractious all week.

"I don't know," Drusilla says.

"But you always think of something." Marianne ties off the plait.

"Well," Drusilla says. "There are usually practical things that can be done. One just has to do them. As for the rest, sometimes one must accept that one cannot help."

Marianne and Drusilla fall asleep there. Drusilla wakes in the morning to Gervase stroking her cheek gently; there is a warm dent in the bed where Marianne was.

"I feel dreadful," says Gervase. "A terrible case of the morning after the night before. I must be getting old."

His complexion is certainly sallower than usual, but his eyes are clearer and his voice more cheerful.

"You'll excuse me, my lord, if I prefer it to the alternative," Drusilla says. "Please brush your teeth before you kiss me."

 

**+1**

The Dowager can be clearly heard through at least half of Stanyon, which may well have put paid to any notion of Drusilla quietly naming her daughter after her paternal grandmother without causing undue fuss or scandal in the neighbourhood. If the Dowager weren’t so much inclined to make herself unpleasant, it could have passed quietly, no-one wanting to offend the popular, friendly present Earl. The Dowager's extremely loud objections and the gossip Drusilla knows will result make that difficult.

Drusilla is too exhausted to be angry. She has only seen her daughter's face once, and the baby's name remains undecided. Frances, for Lady Penistone who cared for Gervase in his holidays from school, Cordelia, for Drusilla's mother, Sophia, for the baby's godmother - all of these are possibilities.

So is Eleanor.

Drusilla cannot work out how the Dowager discovered this, but it appears that she has done.

"Mama," she says, stirring.

"My dear, you should not exert yourself," Mrs Morville says, "you are very tired -"

"I have just given birth. It happens every day to women of all stations in life, many of whom do not have the luxury of idleness." Drusilla struggles in vain to sit up. "And I want that woman _out of my house_."

"Drusilla, I sympathise entirely, but -"

The noise is getting closer.

"Enough," someone says loudly, almost immediately outside the door. Drusilla is almost startled to recognise Gervase's voice. "You are will give me leave to inform you that you are unpardonably rude, madam. Leave this house at once."

There's more than a hint of a snarl in Gervase's words, but it has been a very trying day.

"Oh," Drusilla sighs, subsiding back into her bed.

The Dowager's voice is receding. Soon afterwards, Drusilla cannot hear it at all, and Gervase has returned, and is sitting on the side of her bed holding her hand.

Drusilla lets her eyes close. She is so tired. "Please tell me your stepmother is gone, Gervase."

"She is," Gervase says. He pushes hair soaked with sweat off her forehead, very gently. "Martin is escorting her home. And I have told Abney that we are not at home to her for the duration."

"Good," Drusilla murmurs.

A very soft kiss is pressed to her temple. "If this is a battlefield - it certainly looks like one -"

"It is my _bedroom_ , my lord."

"The two can be true at once. If this is a battlefield, my robin, we are now in camp with sentries on the watch. Go to sleep. Don't worry about my wretched stepmother."

"No," Drusilla sighs, and drifts off to sleep.

Gervase is still holding her hand.


End file.
